Surprise Me
by binnibeans
Summary: Scotland finds himself distracted during a meeting, but ... its outcomes might not be too bad.


**A/N:** For this year's **aph_fluffathon**! The prompt was: _Texting each other during a meeting under the table with plans for dinner - pairing of choice._ **Quick note:** Dewi is Wales's chameleon, so named for the Red Dragon on the Welsh flag. I hope it's okay. ;_;

Remember, also, if it's between asterisks (*), it means it was crossed out!

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><p><em>Paris, France<em>

It wasn't often that Scotland went to giant meetings like this. Usually he was only in meetings regarding himself and his brothers, while England took care of the United Kingdom as a whole. The last time Scotland had been in Paris, for business or pleasure, had actually been relatively recently – probably 5 years ago – but it was still a small while more than he would normally be pleased with.

So he sat in Paris, invited along with all of his brothers, sitting at a long table while the youngest of the heavily-browed quintet stood at the front. England was presenting about something-or-other, and emphasizing the word _great_ when he mentioned, "The United Kingdom of _Great _Britain and Northern Ireland." (He'd wondered what had made his brother feel so inclined to drag the others through such torture; now he knew.) It was a little degrading, in all honesty: He, Wales, and Northern Ireland were sat in the back as if stuck at the kiddy table at Mummy and Daddy's dinner party. Thankfully Ireland had joined them from where he'd been sat between India and Nigeria.

Now, Ireland sat next to Scotland, while Wales and Northern Ireland were next to each other. They were doodling strange little pictures on their papers, and pamphlets, and notes. Last time Scotland had looked, they were drawing out a battle between leprechauns riding fire-breathing dragons, and England's fairies. (The fire-breathing dragon-riding leprechauns had won their fierce battle, Wales's pet … chameleon … watching on as it was drawn out.) Scotland had contemplated asking about what role Nessy had played in the little war, but decided that his current game of hangman, in which a crudely-drawn Stick-England was the hanged man, with Ireland was a little more entertaining. Especially as he couldn't bring himself to care too much if he was losing too badly, but losing was difficult to do with such long lines to guess.

I N D E P E N D E N C E . I S . A W E S O M E

The next round came, and Scotland thought of a quick response.

I . S H O U L D . S P E A K . T O . A M E R I C A

E N G L A N D . W I L L . S H I T E . H I S . P A N T S!

T H A T' S . W H Y . I . W O U L D . D O . I T

The two snickered to themselves quietly, garnering just a few looks from some of the regular meeting-goers, namely nations such as Austria, and South Italy. Oh well; what did it matter? _England_ was presenting, and who wanted to listen to _him _drone on about the global economy? At least America, who listened on with a bored expression, put enthusiasm into his little speeches. Unknowingly, Scotland's eyes moved to look at another. This time the nation had silky, blond tresses, scruff along his jaw, and, though he couldn't see them, blue eyes that reflected only the most glorious and magnificent of his history. Scotland stared for a moment longer, not realizing his brothers taking notice and snickering behind his back. (England, of course, was still blabbering on and paying no attention.)

Another moment passed, followed by yet another, and another, and finally France seemed to notice a stare being laid directly upon him. He turned his head a little bit from near the head of the table, and caught Scotland's intent look, _unintentional _though it was. Too shocked was Scotland to avert his gaze, instead locked onto France's. France winked, softening his stare to Scotland as the latter fought between smiling and … not smiling. His mind began sparking when France sent a quick, upwards quirk of his lips before returning his attention to the head of the table to continue listening to England. (Why France would do so purposefully….) When he focused back on the paper in front of him, his eyes trained downwards, he found little messages left on it from his … loving … brothers.

_France and Scotland!__  
><em>_Sitting in a bush! (Oh my god, Wales, it's 'tree'. 'Sittin' in a tree!' 'Bush' doesn't rhyme with 'G'!)__  
><em>_K-I-S-S-I-N-*__USH*__-__**G**__!__  
><em>_First comes love,__  
><em>_Then comes marriage,__  
><em>_Then comes a—wait_

Scotland read through the scribbled grammar school poem, his face … unable to heat up. He couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed with the poem. Yes, it was poking fun at him and his (obviously) visible infatuation with France, but…. It only really helped prove one thing:

That his brothers were stupid, leaving him the only sensible one of the lot. Hell, he might even go so far as to say – and it would never be mentioned again to anyone, including himself – that _England_ was smarter than them. Looking over at the trio of giggling Britons, he couldn't help but stare in wonder. Wales was doing something with Dewi, the chameleon, and Scotland knew right away he'd rather _not _know what it was. Meanwhile, Ireland and North Ireland were talking about rhyming words.

His thoughts finally meandered back to France. He and France were no strangers to each other, having been through much together. Scotland just wished he could say that they'd known each other for so long that it wasn't awkward; awkward because it wasn't exactly a secret how they may or may not have felt for each other, and sometimes it seemed that they did nothing but tease back and forth with no cemented intention. With France … sometimes it was a little difficult to discern what his intentions were. Scotland tried to keep an eye out for those situations, though at times it just didn't matter. It was France. Lately, however (especially the time directly preceding this visit), France had been a little more insistent, and Scotland couldn't say he minded it. If the opportunity arose, he'd snatch it. Plan in mind, he took his pen and his brothers' poem, ready to give them an even worse verse, but something caught his attention.

Something that sounded like a remix of _Auld Lang Syne_.

Something that sounded like it was coming from his mobile phone.

Something that sounded like his ringtone. The one he forgot to turn to silent at the start of the meeting. The one that England would be sure to give a nice, long lecture about later on after said meeting. His face blanched, and his hand immediately shot towards the musical phone. His fingers fumbled to the background of the others' laughing, or scoffing, as they pressed every other button on his phone to just get it to _shut up_. Finally it ended, and he looked up to find his colleagues sending him either sympathetic glances, or amused grins. Several others pulled out their own phones, also having forgotten, but England's glare – the one he found himself not actually caring about – was the most prominent.

He put the phone down for a moment as the meeting resumed; the boring lull returned quickly after Germany gave a rather loud cough. His brothers had returned to doing whatever it was they'd been doing before writing their mangled poem, and England had finished up his speech to polite, and rather demure, applause. Among the shifting of speakers, Scotland grabbed his phone again to check to see who had given cause to the commotion, and for a moment, he was confused as to whether or not the source was … appropriate to the situation.

It had been France that set his phone off, by sending a text. He shot a quick glance in France's direction to find him turned away and paying attention now to Greece's presentation on the stock market. (Always a depressing topic, in Scotland's opinion.) Instead he received a quick grin and wave from Spain, and soon enough, Scotland gave a polite nod back. Spain turned back around, and, making sure no one else was looking, he opened the text.

_[Ma chère Écosse, I could not help but notice that you sit there lonely with only your brothers to keep you company. Do you have plans for this evening?]_

Scotland re-read the text several times, just to make sure he wasn't reading something that definitely wasn't there. Something about being lonely, and having only his brothers for company? Possibly … going out with France for the evening, when the evening was over? If this was his opportunity…. He didn't want to miss it. Scotland looked back to the other nations; just to make sure they weren't watching him not paying attention (because he would clearly have only been caught when he felt guilty for ignoring the speaker). The coast was safe; he snapped his eyes back to his phone, his thumbs typing furiously away at the small keyboard and wincing at the errors, but doing nothing to fix them. (Unless a word auto-corrected to something entirely too silly. Damned _smart _phones….)

_[I don t think I do, no. Unlessengland has so me thing planned]_

After sending it off, he made sure that his sound was off, but it wasn't long until France texted back. He had quick fingers…. The thought brought the entirely improper sort of image to mind, and he fought back the heat rising to his face.

_[Dearest Scotland, even I cannot stand to see English written out like that.]_

Upon receiving the text, Scotland rolled his eyes, resending it without the random spaces and lack thereof.

_[I see. Would you perhaps like to accompany me to dinner, then? I would certainly appreciate the company. My treat.]_

_[Damn straight it would. Where to though? No offense but I'm not much in the mood for anything too fancy.]_

_[And I am not in the mood for something mundane, and bland.]_

Scotland eyed the message warily. What was that supposed to have meant? He forced his grimace into a toothy grin, his teeth gnashing together. It caught his brothers' worried attentions, not that he noticed, as he typed away furiously. (Nor would France even pick up that Scotland had understood the text as something … France probably hadn't meant.)

_[That leaes us wirh some komd of cs few.]_

_[Écosse…! Qu'est-ce que c'est?*]_

_It's called 'Don't insult my tastes, you bastard'…!_Then again, looking at the sent message after having a second to relax, he supposed … it probably didn't make too much sense.

_[That. Leaves. Us. With. Some. Kind. Of. Cafe.]_

_[Ah, I see. Although I must say, a café is not necessarily what I pictured for a romantic dinner.]_

"Awww…!"

At the sound, all the nations' heads popped up, looking for the source of it. Scotland was especially concerned, as his cheeks burned brightly. (Hey, it wasn't often the word _romantic _was said with any kind of regard to him.) Hungary was staring at her own phone in wonder, and at first Scotland allowed himself a brief – very brief – sigh of relief. It was likely something Austria had sent her, but … Austria didn't seem the type to do something like that during a meeting. It was only then that Scotland noticed Japan next to her, staring with (unreadable) eyes at his computer screen.

"Scotland! You can't just go to a café…!"

Though he'd been staring at Hungary and Japan, he hadn't put 2 and 2 together. Scotland's eyes focused solely on Hungary as their mutual stares met. Her eyes were filled with joy, and excitement. Scotland's were filled with fear and something close to, but not quite, humiliation. Her grin widened, finally morphing into a smile.

His frown deepened as he swallowed.

"Hungary…! Sit still! You should be focusing on the meeting!"

Austria, on the opposite side of Hungary, grabbed her phone and shut it off, much to the woman's dismay. Several people winced in fear at her anticipated struggle for her phone, but she did no such thing. Rather, she simply sat back and pouted. Japan kept his computer up, and Scotland put his phone away in his pocket. England sent him a wary glance, Spain waved again, and Germany looked between Scotland, Hungary, and Japan like a dog sniffing out contraband. It made Scotland feel small, making him shrink in his seat as he straightened the papers in front of him. The meeting resumed its normal pace, Greece continuing on. It allowed his brothers to scramble for paper and pens, quickly scribbling questions to him. They all asked the same thing:

_Café?_

Thinking on it, Hungary shouting out about Scotland going to a café was a rather random and out-of-the-blue statement, especially for his brothers. There was no context; mere assumption. It helped to drive a new point to Scotland about his little brothers: They were crazy. In response, he sent only a confused expression their way, followed by an eye roll and crumpling of the paper their questions rested on.

He ignored the vibration coming from his pocket.

And that one.

That one, too.

…This was really becoming an issue. He knew it was France sending these messages, if his inconspicuous-but-not-really posture meant he was texting under the table. Another vibration later, Scotland sighed to himself and took out the phone to find the four unread texts waiting for him.

_[Even dear Hungary believes we should go somewhere nicer._

[_Would you happen to know how she found out about our conversation?_

[_She does have Japan next to her; I suppose he hacked into the phone companies' transmissions._

[_Do you have anywhere else you might desire to go?]_

Scotland had planned on releasing a groan, but … France still seemed keen on going to dinner, and Scotland was very much okay with this. He still had no desire to go to a fancy restaurant where he had to watch every move he made, and every word he said, but … if it meant dinner with France – a _romantic _dinner with France – then it may have been worth it, especially if this would be his chance to finally snatch France all for himself.

The word _romantic _struck Scotland one more time at that though, and he grinned as he typed back,

_[I don't mind where. You pick. Surprise me.]_

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><p>END<p>

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><p>*<em>Qu'est-ce que c'est<em>: Basically, "What is that?" (Pronounced, 'kehse-kuh-say')


End file.
